“Indeed, we don’t recollect our papa making any allusion to relatives, except,” said Cadwgan, “on one occasion, when he said to mamma, ‘I am afraid she is dead; for were she alive she would certainly write to us.’”
“I know, my dears, to whom he referred, and think I can satisfy you that she is not dead, but still lives.”
“Any information, ma’am,” replied the youth, “with which you can furnish us will place us under deep obligations to you.”
“Have you, my dears, ever seen the picture under the green baize?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then you don’t know whose likeness it is?”
“Indeed, ma’am,” replied the brother and sister, “we don’t.”
“Tell me, my dears,”—removing the covering,—“tell me if you have ever seen any one like that portrait.”
For a moment the children hesitated; and after looking first at the portrait and then at the lady, said, “The picture, ma’am, is very like you; or you resemble the portrait.”
“You are quite right, my loves. Your dear papa was my brother, and you, my dears, are my nephew and niece. Come to my arms, and be assured that, as far as I can, I will make up for the loss you have sustained. I will love you deeply, fondly, ardently; and for my brother’s sake, and that of your kind, gentle, and loving mother, who was as dear to me as my dear sister Gwenfan, who was the light and joy of our homes, and for your own sakes, I will be your guide, your friend, your counsellor and stay.”